The Fright
by Beckers
Summary: Roxton and Veronica are off to rescue Marguerite but is it too late? Meanwhile Malone and Challenger attempt to right a great wrong.


I don't own the characters. This was written for entertainment purposes (not to mention cheap personal therapy) only. No money made off this fiction (darn it!) but I hope one and all enjoys!  
  
TLW  
The Fright  
written by Beckers  
  
***  
  
  
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Malone. It's not that far out of the way and, who knows, we may find something new and interesting inside. Maybe even a clue that will lead us off the plateau."  
  
He watched the tall, slender, dark haired woman march with determination and unbridled enthusiasm in front of him, checking now and again with the yellowed parchment map sold to her by the persuasive Biendi tradesman. She was following a winding trail and he could do nothing but adhere. Marguerite had heard all she wanted to hear:   
  
"Inside the cave of Zuserius lay the wealth of kings ..." A tribal historian read this quote when Marguerite went to see him, verifying with the village's oldest citizen, making certain the map wasn't fake.   
  
Malone had to admit the historian was wise and interesting. His earnest fascination with what Marguerite had brought him was enough to jolt even Malone's skeptical curiosity There was just one little problem: "Doesn't the fact that the Biendi told us the area is *cursed* ring any warning bells in your head, Marguerite? He said we're in great danger."  
  
"I know: '... what doesn't kill us will make us mad ...'. I remember and if you can name me one tribe that doesn't have its lurid tales of caution, Malone, we'll about-face and walk right back to the treehouse now." When he said nothing she continued, "They're all superstitious, Ned. Every one." Margueite waved a hand in dismissal, only thoughts of impending riches paramount on her mind at this moment. "If we were to believe every word of warning tossed our way from the natives we'd never get out of bed in the morning. Besides, I think we've all been here long enough to know what is unsafe in this god forsaken place. A T-Rex. Now, *that's* unsafe."  
  
With a sigh, Malone looked over his shoulder and narrowed uncertain eyes. They should have gone back and told the others. The treehouse was a two day walk from here. How did he allow Marguerite to talk him into this lunacy? Malone grimaced. He couldn't really blame her this time. It was his own pride that made him ignore what was expected of him. If only Challenger hadn't been locked into 'superior mode' last evening:   
  
"Check what's available. Buy, sell and trade then come directly back here." he had said, "Don't disappoint us you two."  
  
Malone had to admit, at the time, he felt like an school boy being given instruction by his untrusting father. It was almost as if Challenger *expected* them to royally botch the simple assignment. The professor was a brilliant man and a good friend but there were times when he took on his role as their voice of reason too seriously. Malone once again concentrated on the path ahead. Maybe that's why he had allowed Marguerite to talk him into this adventure. He, both of them, were being rebellious and not just a little foolish. Still, the writer considered, if he hadn't come Marguerite would have gone all by herself. In that case he'd have to face Roxton's ire, especially if their companion were to come to harm.  
  
"There it is!" Marguerite called, looking upward and pulling back on her hat to get a better view. A lovely waterfall cascaded just before a rounded cave entrance, as was on her map, and she laughed in delight. She glanced to her right, where Malone was standing with an apprehensive expression, and rolled the map as she announced: "Just think Neddy-boy," Marguerite imitated Roxton's nick name for their young friend, "even if we don't find a way off the plateau my hunch is we'll go back home with gifts for everyone." Then, as if to reassure herself as much as him, "They won't be angry."  
  
"If you say so."  
  
Almost playfully, she bopped the young man on the top of his head with her rolled map, "I know so." and she moved forward once again.  
  
**  
  
The afternoon was cool and a light breeze rippled the leaves of their long-limb home, causing shadows and light to fall, playing peekaboo with one another, against the floor, curtains and homemade furniture.  
  
Roxton sat at the living area table and drummed his fingers restlessly against the wooden surface, "They should have been back two days ago, George. I want to go after them." he said. Then, before his friend could respond, he added: "I should have gone with them in the first place."  
  
"John, need I remind of the parting words of our own Marguerite? 'I want to shop, George. *No* time constraints, please.'" Challenger half smiled at Roxton's averse nod, "Besides, I needed your help with the windmill." he reminded, a book of notes in his hand. Challenger had been studying some old scribblings, hoping to upgrade the living conditions in their treetop home yet again.  
  
"Then Veronica should have gone."  
  
He didn't say it but, despite Marguerite's light-hearted warning, Challenger was beginning to think Roxton was right. Yet, Veronica had looked forward to visiting Assai, wanting to give her friend a doll fashioned out of sticks and cloth before she and Jarl's first child was born. Challenger thought more and more of Veronica as his own daughter as time passed on the plateau and when she had announced her intent to go to the Zanga village, he could only smile his approval. She was such a generous and intelligent young woman. "It may be nothing." Challenger attempted assurance, getting back to the subject of Marguerite and Malone."Come on Roxton, you know how Marguerite can be and once Malone starts writing in his journal there's no stopping him. They probably got side tracked and will be home in an hour."  
  
Unconvinced, Roxton stood and left the scientist, walking over to the treehouse balcony. He had had this feeling for days. Something had gone terribly wrong. Still, Challenger had a point about Marguerite. Where that woman was concerned one could never be certain she was where she should be and doing what she had been told. Roxton looked over the side to lush foliage and the horizon beyond. Sometimes he felt like that damn woman did this sort of thing on purpose, driving him to distraction. "Hope you're enjoying yourself, Marguerite." he whispered with a scowl and might have said more if he hadn't been looking down and spotted some suspiciously moving shrubbery a few meters away. Were Marguerite and Malone finally returning? Roxton murmured, "About bloody well time ..." but his relief was forestalled when he saw a glint of tumbled blond hair.   
  
It was Veronica approaching and with her she half held and half dragged another figure."Roxton! Challenger! I need help!" she called.  
  
Roxton's mouth clamped shut and a terrible fright pervaded his senses.  
  
With Veronica was a wounded and barely conscious Ned Malone ... Yet, there was no sign of Marguerite.  
  
****  
  
Night had fallen.   
  
"When we entered the cave it was dark so we lit torches to find our way." Malone spoke with less animation than they had ever heard from the young reporter. He lay on the living area sofa, draped in a blanket and holding a warm mug of tea, sipping slowly and trying to get his bearings. One of his eyes had been blackened and ribs were bruised. There was also a nasty gash on his left leg. But - more than any of these physical ailments - Malone was suffering from a emotional shock. If Veronica hadn't found him when she did he might not have found his way home and could have easily been lunch for some fortunate raptor.  
  
Behind Malone, attempting to achieve circulation through the blanket to his stiff shoulders, Veronica administered massage. The contact was just as important to her as Malone. She had been on her way back from the Zanga village when she saw the ailing and disoriented reporter tripping and gasping as he tried to make it back to the treehouse. He was so confused but driven that she didn't know what to think. The last she heard Malone and Marguerite were going to get supplies at a nearby village. He didn't even seem to acknowledge her when Veronica grasped him in her arms and pulled his bulk along with her. He couldn't answer any of her questions. Malone just kept saying: "I have to get help ..."  
  
"When we started out it was just an every day ordinary cave. We've seen hundreds of them." With shaky hands, Malone placed the mug beside him on a small round table. "We were disappointed but Marguerite didn't want to go away empty handed. She told me we weren't leaving until we found something of value. She no more said that then we spotted writing on the walls. It was an ancient tribal language probably long dead but Marguerite, of course, studied it for a few seconds and started to get all excited. She said the direct translation was: **Continue. Your hearts desire. The land of your fathers. Riches lay before the brave of heart.** . We were led to believe it was a way off the plateau." Malone paused, thinking deeply for a moment. "The man who sold us the map, his name was Hesse, seemed so sure. Then the Biendi historian mentioned great wealth ... I was skeptical at first but Marguerite was inspired. She thought we might find ..."  
  
"... jewels." Veronica unintentionally whispered in thought, knowing Marguerite and what would drive her forward on such a haphazard quest.   
  
Malone nodded, looking sheepishly up at Challenger, who appeared both concerned and troubled, and to Roxton who wore an expression of impatience and, Malone wasn't sure, but it looked like *fear* more than anger. "So, we walked and the area where we traveled suddenly became lighter. We didn't need our torches anymore. We couldn't figure out what it was that lightened the cave but the closer we got the more intense it became, until we finally arrived at a large room with an altar. A long table rested in the middle of the cave room and there were more etchings on the walls. There were also tapestries with images ..." Malone closed his eyes, recalling the next part of his story unwillingly. "I watched Marguerite read and suddenly she became afraid. I remember her eyes widening and she backed up from the wall, looking up at the tapestries ... She whispered something I didn't understand then told me we had to leave and fast." Malone paused, trying to get his thoughts together.  
  
"Go on!" Roxton nearly barked, his fingers curling into fists as he tried to get past whatever demon it was that was getting the best of his emotions.  
  
Startled by the hunter's exclamation, Ned glanced once in his direction, as did the others, then continued: "We started to run but they came at us from everywhere." Malone's voice began to raise and become uneven as he continued. "We were unarmed by big men, warriors covered in red paint. I think it was paint. It could have been blood ... I don't know. One of the men spoke broken English. He asked us who held the map. Marguerite tried to hide it but a warrior saw her and took it. Then a native with a colorful headdress came forward. He was either their chief or some kind of voodoo witch doctor. He looked closely at Marguerite and smiled. The native with the map motioned for them to take me away. The last I saw of Marguerite the guy with the headdress was looking into her eyes and the English speaking warrior said something about she ..." Malone paused.  
  
"What?" Leaning in Challenger, gentler than Roxton, urged the struggling Malone on. He was fascinated despite himself.  
  
"He said: 'The gods would feed well on her because she had many secret torments.'"  
  
This comment sent Roxton to the cabinet where he kept his rifle, "We have to go." he said, no nonsense. "We've already waited too long." Quickly, he loaded his weapon and grabbed his hat.  
  
"But it's dark, Roxton." Veronica started but was quickly cut off, caught slightly off guard by his cold stare. He was upset. They all were. Yet, there was something more than a general worry for Marguerite's safety bothering the usually methodic adventurer. Veronica watched his jerky movements. Something was most certainly wrong but she couldn't put her finger on it.  
  
"What? Should we wait around here for daylight to come while those butchers are doing God knows what to her?" Roxton asked unyielding, snapping the rifle barrel shut after loading.  
  
"He's right." Challenger said, "Take the map ..." he started.  
  
"I don't need it." Roxton said and point to his temple, "It's here."  
  
"I'm coming with you." Malone sat quickly upward, the blanket wrapped around his chest and shoulders falling to his waist, but he had to slump again back onto the sofa. A wave of dizziness overcame him. He put a hand to his head and attempted to shake off the sickness.  
  
"Ned, you can't." Veronica said, "I'll go with Roxton. You need to rest."  
  
"But I've been there. If Roxton's memory fails ..."  
  
"I need you here, Ned." Challenger spoke reasonably and, leaning forward, he reached to grasp Malone's upper arms. He was pleased to see he had the reporter's full attention now. "You won't be resting yet, my boy. This whole situation with Marguerite coming by that map is very strange. We need to go to the village and find that tradesman, Hesse. I have a feeling you and Marguerite are **not** the first to make the mistake of going on that journey."  
  
"Coming?" Roxton asked of Veronica, passing her a pre-made torch to be lit when they got outside. He then headed to the elevator.  
  
Challenger glanced briefly at Roxton and Veronica's retreating forms then back to Malone. "Now, what exactly happened to *you*?"  
  
"They took me out of the main cave, to the opening where Marguerite and I first entered, and threw me over the waterfall."  
  
As they descended in the elevator Veronica heard the first part of Malone's explanation. **They had thrown him over a waterfall!** She was glad she would not be around to hear the rest.  
  
"They tried to kill you." Challenger whispered, appalled but not surprised.  
  
"Yeah. I *would* have died too but I managed to fall and land in just the right place. I traveled down river on a piece of driftwood for awhile then pulled myself to land. It wasn't until I got my footing back that I realized," He glanced over to their dinner table, where it rested. "they had placed the map in my pocket again. I don't know why."  
  
"Maybe as a warning to others who might try to do the same as you and Marguerite?" Challenger theorized then reconsidered. It wasn't adding up. He rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Doesn't the river pass the Biendi village?" he wondered.  
  
"Yes, I think you're right."  
  
"I had a feeling it did."  
  
****   
  
"Slow down, Roxton! Slow down!" Veronica ran after the hunter as they made their way through a particularly dense area of jungle growth. The night, traveling with the driven hunter, had been utter hell. He wouldn't listen to a word she said and, excepting that she was their torch carrier, practically didn't even acknowledge her existence. The dawn, from all appearances, was going to be even worse if she didn't settle matters now. He had been going at the same rapid pace since they left the treehouse, pausing only very briefly for a necessary break, and he was threatening to burn both of them out before they managed to get to the cave. "We'll not do Marguerite any good if we can't fight for her life when we get there." Veronica called.  
  
She watched suddenly as Roxton slowed before her and his back stiffened ever so slightly.  
He then looked down at her as Veronica stood beside him, "I know." he said, his face sobering, "but I ... we can't lose her, Veronica." he said simply then looked away into the jungle, which was becoming more visible as dawn drew near.  
  
"We won't." she replied although Veronica knew the words must have sounded hallow. Whatever it was the natives were going to do with Marguerite had already been done. The best they could hope for was that Marguerite, in that clever and slightly manipulative way she had, was able to scheme her way past the worst of her problems.  
  
They continued to walk rapidly but at a more reasonable pace.  
  
Veronica looked closely at Roxton's profile. There was still something hidden there, she was sure. "Are you all right?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." he said but was not convincing.  
  
The roar of a nearby raptor put the man and woman on their guard but they continued to move on.  
  
****  
  
Malone and Challenger started for the Biendi village at dawn. By this time, rejuvenated by a good night sleep and nursed with a homemade salve which was smoothed over his many cuts and bruises, Malone was like a new man. The only real evidence he had been through a physical ordeal was the blackened eye and an air of melancholy which had settled into his early morning mood.   
  
"The black eye makes you look like a man who should not be trifled with." Challenger commented, attempting genial conversation as they traveled to the village.  
  
"Right now I'm **not**. I can't believe I was so stupid. You're right, Challenger. I'm not to be trusted with even the simplest of tasks."  
  
Taken aback, Challenger looked over at the younger man as they walked, "I never said you couldn't be trusted." he said, matching Malone stride for stride.  
  
"You implied it when Marguerite and I left for Biendi a few days ago." Malone stated, looking straight ahead, following a slightly worn trail. "You were right. I know this sort of thing always leads to disaster but I still let Marguerite pull me by a leash to that cave. Because *I* was weak she's probably dead ..."  
  
The bitterness in Malone's tone made Challenger wince, "Marguerite is her own woman. The only way you would have kept her from going was if you tied her up and dragged her back to the treehouse." Challenger almost smiled, "Now, Lord Roxton I can see actually doing that but not you, Ned? You did what was right for you. I can't see where accompanying Marguerite, being her protector, is wrong. There really was no other way around it."  
  
"And I failed. Challenger, I was as fascinated as Marguerite! Sure, I was apprehensive but I wanted to see where that map led too."  
  
"That makes you human, curious and an adventurer. You're not the same young man that started with us three years ago, Ned. You don't sit back and merely observe like you once did, just so you can get a good story written in your journal." Challenger chuckled this time and put a hand on Malone's shoulder as they continued their hike, "I see more and more of Roxton rubbing off on you. Maybe even a little of Veronica."  
  
"Is that a good thing?"  
  
Challenger answered honestly, "If you were still living in America I might say no. But here, in this lost world, I think it is good to be willing to put yourself out for your friends, even if what you're doing is unexplored and potentially dangerous. It's my sincere belief that the only way we'll ever find a way off the plateau is if we're willing to be reckless." Then he added, "And with the aid science, of course."  
  
Malone glanced at Challenger, "But I still disappointed you, didn't I?"  
  
Pausing briefly to gather his thoughts, Challenger replied: "The only way you could ever disappoint me, Ned, is if you didn't care what happened to Marguerite or any of the rest us in the pursuit of your passion. You've never done that and never will." Then, speaking from a purely personal standpoint: "If it matters, you make me proud. You possess the tenacity I had in my younger years."  
  
Stunned into reflection, Malone gulped and continued to walk with Challenger. His own father had never said such things. As a matter of fact, his father had practically disowned him when Ned decided to work as a journalist rather than continuing university and becoming a doctor. He still retained the bitter memory of his father's shouts just before he boarded the transport to South America, where Malone and the others met up with The Challenger Expedition.   
  
"Just remember, Ned," Challenger murmured, "In the eyes of all the explorers here on the plateau, you are family. And in my heart ..." Challenger clear his throat ever so slightly, "...you are the son I never had."  
  
Malone's vision became slightly bleary from the emotion which had settled in his eyes.  
  
**  
  
By late afternoon Roxton and Veronica were hiking up the winding trail to the cursed cave entrance. Their close proximity to the waterfall caused moisture to spill from the downpour, gently splashing their sweat soaked clothes and skin. It was a welcome relief from the heat of the day yet neither was prepared to remark on what, at any other time, would be good fortune.  
  
The couple listened intently as they approached the smooth landing before the darkened entrance. They could hear nothing, no voices and nil that would indicate mortal life was anywhere near the cave opening.   
  
Distracted, Veronica stepped to the rocky ledge, gazing over the waterfall, and involuntarily shivered. She could just picture poor Ned being tossed off this cliff, touching down in the icy water below.  
  
Roxton ignited their torch, "Let's go." he said and moved forward. It was as Malone had said. Only darkness for a good ten minute walk. Roxton, trying to think as Marguerite would, understood her disappointment. They were moving on an incline with only the plain rocky walls appearing to greet their waning anticipation.  
  
"The writing." Veronica said, miming Roxton to bring his torch closer. The cave wall was all at once encompassed with a mass of odd hieroglyphics only Marguerite would be able to decipher. "Look." She crouched and picked up an object from the granite floor.  
  
Roxton handed the torch to Veronica and took Marguerite's heart-shaped locket in his hands, "Malone didn't say anything about her losing this." Without warning, the echo of anxious voices were heard from further in the cave. The explorers had no way of knowing if they were male or female or how far away they were. "Let's go!" Roxton shouted, pushing the necklace into his vest pocket and running, Veronica close at his heels.  
  
Darkness turned to light the further they journeyed and soon, as Marguerite and Malone had before them, Roxton and Veronica reached what could only be described as a temple of worship. The tapestries and wall writings were bright and alive. The altar itself had been decorated with gold-laden statues and elaborate potted greenery. The table, also etched in a strange, ancient composition did rest in the middle of the room, as Malone had described. Yet now it held items that could not have been there one week previous.   
  
Laying on the table, folded with apparent respect, were Marguerite's hat and clothes. Her boots were also present, placed beside her skirt and blouse. Atop these articles of clothing rested a gold amulet, much more gaudy than Marguerite's simple silver locket.  
  
Veronica picked it up and caught her breath, "My father drew a picture of this in one of his manuals." she whispered, her little finger tracing over a few abstract lines. "It's from the Zuserius people. When I was a little girl he told me about the tribe and their strange beliefs. This amulet," she concentrated, "is a sign of appreciation, for a job well done."  
  
Confused, Roxton looked from Veronica to Marguerite's hat, gently fingering the brim, "Why is it with Marguerite's clothes?"  
  
"To honor her." Veronica searched her mine, trying desperately to recall what her father had told her. Then she remembered: "Roxton ... she's going to be sacrificed to the god Zus and this medallion will be buried with her clothes, the last trappings of her mortal life!"  
  
A scream was suddenly heard, the echo closer than before, but this time it was followed by a distinct cry of, "No! Please, stop!"  
  
Roxton would know that cry anywhere, "Marguerite!" he shouted and ran with Veronica, following the cries of their lost companion, attempting to reach her before it was too late.  
  
****  
  
Roxton felt as if he were moving in slow motion. Every eddy, every alcove, every fissure where there lay promise became a dead-end. "Where the hell is she?" he cursed in exasperation and near panic. They were so close. He knew Marguerite was near. He **sensed** it. "She better be unharmed or I'll ..." he threatened, gripping the stock of his rifle hard.  
  
"This way!" Veronica called, pulling at Roxton's arm, somehow pin pointing where the chant they were now hearing was located. As they ran another mysterious reverberation echoed about the honeycomb of caves. It was a growl accompanied by a hiss. "That doesn't sound good." Veronica commented, worry very evident in her manner.  
  
When they finally entered the chamber, careful not to rush for fear of doing more harm than good if discovered, Roxton's heart leapt up into his throat. The natives were as Malone had described, painted red and standing in a large circle around a huge pit. They staggered back and forth, chanting, as their leader, a man wearing a colorful headdress, prayed into the pit before him. He was, perhaps, calling for their god. Roxton, not understanding the language, could not be certain of the words but the intent was indisputable.  
  
Marguerite, looking lethargic and ashen, had been clothed in a thin white tunic, its hem draping an inch or two above her knees. Her sooty hair was loose and wild about her shoulders and she was being held up between two burley men, her hands laying limp at her sides. "Something's wrong with her." Roxton murmured. Marguerite's eyes were only half open. She appeared incoherent and pliable, not at all like her usual self. The woman Roxton knew would be struggling and hurling insults. Or she would be using her considerable charms to manipulate herself out of this frightening situation. Yet there she stood, unmoving.  
  
"I think she's drugged." Veronica whispered into Roxton's ear.  
  
"Come forward!" one of the natives called in perfect English. He was on the opposite side of the pit, motioning for Marguerite with his hands and deceptively gentle voice, "Our leader, the mighty Jarah, commands it!"  
  
It was then that Roxton and Veronica saw the platform. Marguerite was placed on a thin length of wood, resembling a diving board, which led out over the pit. Slowly she started forward but came half way across the board and stopped, appearing bewildered.  
  
"Come!" called the native again, "Do as the messengers demand; as Jarah requires. All the pain, all of those past torments and regrets, will haunt you no more. You will be at peace and draped in riches once arriving in the promised land. You will be loved and admired and have power ..."  
  
Roxton and Veronica glanced at one another.  
  
Marguerite looked down at her bare feet as they stood still on the board. She then regarded the natives, not saying a word, but her eyes holding a question to he who spoke.  
  
"Yes," the native said as if to reassure, "*He* will be there also."  
  
With an effort, still unsure, Marguerite took another few paces, which brought her nearly out to the end of the board. Her eyes suddenly grew wide and horrified. She screamed and fell to her knees on the plank, her weight causing the board to bounce ever so slightly.  
  
A loud growl was heard from inside the deep pit.  
  
"That's it!" Roxton shouted, shooting a bullet from his rifle into the high, naturally wrought cathedral ceiling. "Let her go or none of you are getting out of here alive!" he warned as the startled natives, some running to escape and others standing still in fear, allowed he and Veronica to pass. Roxton handed the rifle to Veronica when it appeared, a least for now, there would be no violent confrontation. "If they move blow their heads off." he told her, hoping at least some of what he said was understood by the uncivilized portion of the cave's population.  
  
Very carefully, Roxton mounted the plank and walked its thin length to Marguerite who was still on her knees and staring into the pit. She didn't appear to understand there was a rescue afoot. "Marguerite," Roxton called her name softly, "look at me." He watched as the back of her neck twitched ever so slightly, sending a ripple through her long hair. However, she was unmoving from her position on the plank.  
  
"She has been chosen!" the English speaking native called, "She has been through the ceremony! You cannot take her away! Zus will be angry. His messengers will destroy everyone here!"  
  
A native, young and foolish, made an attempt to jump on the plank and get to Roxton. Veronica swept wide with the rifle, hitting him effectively across his narrow shoulders. Losing his footing the man cried out and fell into the pit.   
  
It was then that Roxton saw what held Marguerite's attention. *The messengers* were two mutant dinosaurs, raptor-like, with bone-like protrusions on either sides of their heads. Long, lapping tongues darted from between their mouths. The screams of the native who had fallen into the pit were instantly muted by the beasts. He was devoured within seconds.  
  
Frightened by Roxton, Veronica and also by an unexpected popping and cracking from the ceiling above, the other followers suddenly began to cry out and look about their numbers nervously, unsure what to do about this strange change of events. Confused, used to having the upper hand, the situation was totally abnormal to them. As was the dust and pebble which was now raining down upon them from above.  
  
"Roxton! The ceiling is going!" Veronica called, "That gun shot must have knocked some support stones loose. We've got to go!"  
  
The ground about them began to shake as stone and earth lost cohesion. Like Marguerite in front of him, Roxton was forced to collapse to his knees on the board or fall to his death.  
  
The English speaking native translated what his master, Jarah, the man in the headdress announced: "The messengers are angry! The sacrifice of Ambala, our master's esteemed son, was inferior! They are exacting their revenge!"  
  
The natives talked amongst their own, frightened but resolute. Some of the less loyal followers began to run from the cave and others, those who were possibly warrior material, moved forward to look inside the pit, to actually see the anger of the messengers for themselves.  
  
Embolden by the panic and confusion, Roxton leapt forward and grasped Marguerite around the waist, protecting her from a fall as well as shielding her from the stones falling from above. He could hear Veronica struggling with a few of the natives behind him, possibly smacking at them with his rifle. A small portion of his brain wished she had taken his offer of teaching her to shoot seriously. Sometimes a knife just wasn't enough.   
  
"We must kill them all to appease our great god!"  
  
Jarah lifted superior arms as if to give his blessing.  
  
The earth rumbled about them and those natives brave enough to attempt the bidding of Jarah met their end when they were knocked off their feet and into the pit. Veronica almost felt the agony of defeat herself when a native snuck up behind her, forcing her forward to the rounded opening and grasped the rifle. However, a second tremor distracted him and when he saw his companions meet their deaths he let her go and ran to the exit, fearful of the god's messengers and how they were claiming his people.  
  
Jarah and his English speaking aid were knocked off their feet and both men's horrified shrieking ceased when a large slab of wall fell on them, silencing their cries forever.  
  
Frantic, Roxton pulled at Marguerite, dragging her back with him, feeling the plank beginning to let loose from the side of the pit.  
  
"Roxton, hurry!" Veronica cried.  
  
"Go!" he shouted back at her, "We'll meet you on the outside!"  
  
"I can't leave you!"  
  
"Veronica, GO!"   
  
Upset, the jungle girl hesitated then did as the hunter insisted.  
  
A large bolder dislodged itself from above and missed Roxton and Marguerite by inches. Looking down, Roxton saw that it had hit one of the messengers, laying the creature out flat. It's companion did not take the news as badly as expected. Immediately, it began to chew on its mate's left foot.  
  
"Marguerite!" Roxton's voice grew stern as he spoke over her shoulder, "You listen to me! You have got to snap out of this or we are both going to die. I don't want to meet my end like this and I know you don't either so start backing up or I'll do something we'll both regret."  
  
Roxton actually had no idea what it was he would do if his threat wasn't taken to heart but his tone must have jarred something in the woman because she was doing as he requested, backing up along the wooden length. It was an achingly long process considering everything that was going on around them but when they finally reached the end of the board Roxton felt such a charge of relief that he swept her off the board, into his arms, and held Marguerite tightly. Seconds later, their board detached and fell, as was everything else, into the pit.  
  
Dazed, Marguerite lifted a hand to touch his cheek.. Her eyes narrowed, as if recalling something, and her lips formed his first name.  
  
"We don't have time, Marguerite." Roxton took her hand in his and bolted with the woman out of the pit-cave and into the labyrinth which led to the outside. The chain reaction he had started with the rifle bullet had erupted thirty fold. The entire structure was rumbling and threatening to cave in. Roxton prayed he had taken the right exit. The whole area had turned into as confusing, dark maze but he began to breath a bit easier when he saw light up ahead. The cave exit loomed before them but Marguerite was slow, her bare feet stumbling and being cut by the loose gravel they were racing on.  
  
Finally, Roxton picked her up in his arms and ran as quickly as he could.  
  
Fresh air and an excited, bundle holding Veronica welcomed them. Their reunion greeting was brief as the trio continued to race down the winding path until they reached the bottom of the hill, where they were sure there was no danger. The last they saw of the cave was debris and dust billowing from the inside out, mingling with the water from the cascading waterfall.  
  
Exhausted, the explorers collapsed onto the grass.   
  
Veronica, for the first time in a long while, laughed her alleviation. "You made it. I was beginning to wonder if I'd be making the trip home alone." she said and patted the knot of clothes and boots next to her, "But I went back into the big room to get Marguerite's clothes anyway. Just in case."  
  
Roxton, who had been laying flat on his back , sat up with an effort. "I can't believe you risked it. You could have been killed, Veronica."  
  
"I knew Marguerite couldn't walk home in her bare feet ..."  
  
The jovial mood quieted when both Roxton and Veronica realized Marguerite was still laying on the ground, one her side and unmoving. Her hands were clenched into tight fists.  
  
"Marguerite?" Roxton reached over to touch her shoulder and she shied away. He moved closer, touching her hair. "It's going to be okay now. We're safe. No one's going to hurt you."  
  
They heard a whimper.   
  
Roxton and Veronica looked at one another, confused.  
  
"We're going home." Veronica crawled over to where the other woman lay and spoke gently, "You want to go home, don't you? Back to the treehouse?"  
  
Marguerite opened her eyes and looked at her two friends. She then started to cry.  
  
****  
  
Hesse bolted the moment he saw Malone enter the Biendi market place with Challenger.  
  
"Hold him, Malone! Don't let him go!"  
  
They had to chase him, zig-zagging in and out of merchandise counters and make perilous turns around blind allies, and finally cornering the dealer between two fruit stands.  
  
"He's not going anywhere!" Malone shouted, gripping the errant tradesman by the scruff of his neck, shaking him not so gently to show he had better not take any foolish chances. The man was thin and wiry and had eyes like a opossum. That much Ned remembered from he and Marguerite's initial encounter with him, when he had introduced the map to the fascinated couple with promises of riches and a chance to actually find a way off the plateau.  
  
"Why do you do this to me? I am nothing but a poor salesman. I have children to feed and ..." Hesse attempted to squeeze pity from the older of the two men, thinking Challenger's fatherly looks might afford him some sympathy. The men found a bench, actually a board laying lengthwise atop two barrels, and plopped Hesse into a sitting position, Challenger was on his right and Malone to his left. He could go no where without being blocked.  
  
"We just want to ask you some questions." Challenger mentioned serenely, looking about the snarl of market place commerce as he spoke.  
  
"And you better answer them honestly or I'll break something." Malone shook the salesman by the collar in a near imitation of what Roxton might incur. He wasn't normally so aggressive but, quite frankly, when he saw Hesse run at the sight of him Ned suddenly understood that the tradesman knew he wasn't supposed to be coming back, at least not alive. It infuriated the usually passive reporter.  
  
Challenger didn't bother to hold Malone back. He had managed to intimidate Hesse into inaction and that might be what they needed to get the facts they sought. "First of all, when you sold this map to Marguerite you already knew what was going to happen, that she and Malone were at risk."  
  
"Of course I knew. But they knew it too. Treasure hunting is never safe. Not here."  
  
"But you **knew** exactly what we were walking into," Malone growled, "and didn't even warn Marguerite of the danger. You just wanted to make a sell."  
  
Hesse paused and cleared his throat, "Well, you're right about the map. I **did** want to make a sell. That's why I'm **here** but to say I sold it to her knowing she was going to die is another thing ..."  
  
"You think she's dead?" Challenger asked.  
  
"Well yes," Hesse's eyes widened, "didn't you say ...?"  
  
"We never said anything about *death* just the danger."  
  
Sighing, relaxing his shoulders, in a 'I give up' manner, the tradesman looked first at a scowling Malone then again at Challenger, "I knew they were both going to die." he said and felt Malone's fingers ease off his collar, either in shock or acknowledgment that he was now finally telling the truth. "I'm bound legally to a man who gave me that map four months ago. He told me to find two people every few weeks who look ambitious and, well, **greedy** enough to face the perils of a treasure hunting quest."  
  
"Marguerite and Malone were not the first." Challenger surmised.  
  
"No." Hesse chewed his bottom lip for a moment, "They're the fifth couple I've sent on the journey." Hesse glanced at Malone, "But he's the first to ever return alive." The merchant then further confessed, "From what I understand, two people go in, one is taken by worshipers and the other is immediately tossed into their sacred river. Eventually those thrown over the falls wash up here on our shores, dead."  
  
"And that's how you get the map back." Malone pulled it from his pocket to show Hesse. He felt an odd tingle of satisfaction when the trader grimaced.  
  
He nodded. "I then bury the body, go back to selling, and find someone else to take the map."  
  
"The killings are sacrificial?" Challenger asked, "For the gods?"  
  
"*A* god that requires agony of the mind and soul before his messengers feast on the body of their honored."  
  
Malone gulped. "Marguerite ..." he whispered and was once again touched by guilt. If Roxton found her dead the hunter would never forgive him for not stopping her when he had the chance.  
  
"Barbaric." Challenger whispered, not knowing any other word to describe his feelings. He too found himself very worried about Marguerite and prayed that Roxton and Veronica were able to rescue her before anything too terrible happened. However, another thought assailed the professor's mind. Roxton and Veronica might be in as much danger as Malone and Marguerite. They were, after all, another couple fit for sacrifice and the gods usually liked many offerings. Challenger focused on Hesse again, "Who is your master? Who are you bound to?"  
  
For a moment Hesse seemed indecisive then he drew in a breath, "I'll take you to him."  
  
  
**  
  
They rested in a green-grassy clearing, building a campfire to brew strong tea from the leaves of the local vegetation. Veronica was hunting, hoping to entrap a small animal for their lunch, something they could roast with little trouble. They had only walked a half day, the sun still high in the sky, and as anxious as Roxton was to get Marguerite back to the treehouse she could not be rushed.   
  
Roxton couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Marguerite was exhausted, gathered into a small ball, her lovely gray eyes closed and sleeping as if she hadn't had a good nights rest in a week. She was so vulnerable and innocent right now. The woman was generally a rock, emotionally controlled and quite conniving if a matter called for it. Her cool head was one of the things he admired most about her. But now ... he had never seen her so traumatized. He could only imagine what she had been through and that, in itself, inflamed Roxton. He wanted to kill someone. Horrible but true.  
  
Marguerite had yet to utter a single word. Even while he and Veronica dressed her, after escaping the Zuserius, she was completely compliant. She was like a small, confused child. Her feet had been badly bruised and cut from their cave escape so Veronica tore the ceremonial tunic Marguerite had worn into strips. She then wrapped Marguerite's feet and toes before Roxton slipped her feet into her familiar, comfortable boots. From there they walked but Marguerite lagged, even with their help. She couldn't seem to focus and once she had even collapsed on all fours, needing their help to stand again.  
  
Veronica, returning to camp with a couple of large eggs and a dead creature that looked somewhat like a rabbit, laid them in front of Roxton for cleaning and preparation.  
  
"Thanks." he said, getting to work. "I know hunting is more my department but ..."  
  
" ... you wanted to stick around in case Marguerite woke up." Veronica nodded her understanding and put more wood on the fire. She then sat beside Roxton as he paused in the cleaning of their lunch.  
  
Roxton stared anxiously as the woman laying in front of them turned restlessly in her sleep. "What if she never comes out of it." he wondered, not realizing he had actually voiced his worry.  
  
"This is Marguerite we're talking about, right?" Veronica half smiled and put a hand on Roxton's shoulder. "She's been through a lot. Give her time."   
  
"It's the *lot* that's worrying me." He lifted fingers to rub gently at his lips as he continued to stared at Marguerite, "You don't think they .. they ...?"  
  
Veronica got his drift, "She was a sacrifice but she was also *honored*. No John, I don't think they abused her. It would be like spoiling a gift to Zus and the other minor deities they pray to. None of their followers would want the wrath of their gods to rain down upon them if it were discovered she was mishandle." Veronica pursed her lips, "I keep remembering what Malone told us. What he said the one native announced: **The gods will feed well on her because she has many secret torments.** We know so little about Marguerite's past, what drives her to do the crazy things she does. We know she's worldly but she's had to pay a price for that and ..."  
  
Roxton looked at Veronica now, "What?"  
  
"It's just, whatever drug they gave Marguerite worked on her mind, on persecutions of the past. I think it must have amplified whatever she dreads most to such a degree that, for at least the two days they held her in bondage, that's *all* she was allowed to think about. And what about her future? Marguerite has dreams like the rest of us. If the drug worked on that as well, if she was led to believe she was never getting off the plateau or, even worse, someone she loved deeply ..." Veronica glanced quickly at Roxton before eyeing Marguerite once again. "... had died and **she** was the cause ..." Veronica shrugged mildly, "All of these things, heightened with the drugs, could easily leave her in the state she is now."  
  
"You act as if you know something, Veronica." It was Roxton's turn to allow a brief smile as he bent forward once again to prepare their meal. He didn't want to think about what might be swirling around poor Marguerite's fevered brain. He just wanted her better. If she only knew how much she meant to him ...  
  
"My father's journal." she reminded, "I've been studying it closely and I'm also recalling the things he told me when I was little."  
  
*Oh yes, lovely bed time stories for a small child*, Roxton thought but didn't say so. "I just wish I knew what we could do to bring her out of it." he added, "I miss *arguing* with Marguerite."  
  
Concerned but also smiling a bit at Roxton's last comment, Veronica picked up and broke one of the eggs over a flat stone perched just above the fire, "I do too." she murmured.  
  
Meanwhile, Marguerite dreamed ...  
  
**Malone! Where had they driven Malone? Marguerite's mind screamed as she saw the savages take him from the cave. Then one of the natives looked into her eyes and smiled, possibly thinking thoughts that were so typical of men. He said: "The gods will feed well on her because she has many secret torments."   
  
Now, just **what** did he men by that?  
  
A small woman entered with a garment, folded neatly in her hands. She bowed in front of the native with the headdress, probably their leader, then walked up to Marguerite and bowed again, presenting her with the white tunic.  
  
"I don't need that. I'll be leaving soon ... thank you." Marguerite tried then made a motion to leave, stopped by a savage blocking her path.  
  
"Take it." the English speaking native said, "To decline would mean her life."  
  
"Wouldn't want that on my conscience." Marguerite said. Contrite, she took the garment. "Lovely parting gift?" she asked them with a grain of hope. Oh, what type of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Marguerite? She again glanced up at the tapestries, at the jeopardy they represented. God Ned, I hope you're okay. I'm so sorry I dragged you here ...  
  
A young boy came to her next, holding a decorative cup containing an amber liquid. He smiled with wide innocence, revealing a few missing baby teeth.  
  
"Drink." the native said.  
  
"Honestly, I'm not thirsty."  
  
The native made a motion to one of the followers and pointed at the child.  
  
Again, Marguerite glanced up at a tapestry, seeing a depiction of a child being eaten by ravenous wolves. "No wait!" she said, showing all that she was drinking what was in the cup. She gently scratch a finger against the brim. Real gold. Very nice, she thought.  
  
They stared at her. Why were they staring? What did they want to see?  
  
Unexpected, she began to feel woozy. Marguerite could hear voices but barely understood what they were saying. It was as if her mind was not her own. She was in a fog. "What did you ...?" she started then faltered. She could feel someone, probably the native woman, removing her clothes. But it didn't matter. She felt the thin tunic being slid over her bare arms and head ... and she felt herself being lifted off the floor by strong hands, placed on the table in the middle of the grand room. It was actually quite lovely, this feeling of ease and the sudden fatigue that engulfed her ... **  
  
But then the nightmares came ....  
  
**  
  
  
**"You wicked, wicked, wicked child!"  
  
*Slam.* The ruler came down upon her fingers yet again.  
  
"You are possessed by a demon!"  
  
*Slam.*   
  
Even when the skin on her knuckles broke and tiny lines of blood began to trickle down her fingers to be blotted by the crisp, white note paper underneath, ten year old Marguerite did not cry. She kept her hand outstretch on Sister Mary Margaret's desk, as ordered, and she stood, her lips pressed firmly together, staring straight ahead, her large gray eyes cold with defiance.  
  
The nun, clearly earnest in her punishment, lifted her ruler once again but was suddenly halted by the visiting Father Genacou. He had been passing by the classroom on his way to Father O'Carrol's office.  
  
"What has this child done?" he asked, entering into the classroom where the sister and Marguerite's classmates were seated.  
  
"Insubordination." Sister Mary Margaret declared, "Little Miss Marguerite here speaks out of turn, Father. Here I am, giving a French language lesson to better enlighten these young women, and this uneducated snip is telling me that my pronunciation is incorrect!"  
  
Father Genacou, gently fingering his white collar, looked down at the girl. "Do you speak French, Marguerite?" he asked in the language of his own father and mother.  
  
"Oui." Marguerite said, arching a too grown up eyebrow at the concerned priest. He was tall and ruggedly handsome, with dark hair and a winning smile. He was younger than many of the priests that had visited them in the past. She like him. Especially that smile.  
  
"How did you learn?"  
  
"I don't know, Father. I just can. I can speak and read German as well ..."  
  
Their conversation progressed for awhile, both speaking French to one another, with the children behind the priest and Marguerite murmuring their shock and even a little delight at the nun's stunned expression.  
  
Father Genacou laughed, amused by something the girl said, obviously directed at her instructor, then appeared grave when he noticed Marguerite's bloodied hand and bruised knuckles. "Sister Mary Margaret, please come with me." The priest took the sister outside of the classroom. None of the children could hear what was being said but they could see their animated conversation through a glass window. Father Genacou appeared very angry, raising his hands to punctuate words, and Sister Mary Margaret turned contrite, looking down at the tiled floor.   
  
A moment later the priest turned, winked good-naturedly at Marguerite through the glass window, then walked away. At that moment Marguerite thought she might have fallen in love with Father Genacou. He was so handsome and had saved her from an evil witch, just like a prince in a fairy tale.   
  
Sister Mary Margaret returned to her classroom. Her dark eyes were cold as she looked at Marguerite, "Go to the infirmary right away and have your knuckles cleaned and bandaged." she said, picking up her ruler once again.  
  
Marguerite, her hand still resting on the nun's big desk, was unable to help the return stare and a smirk that upturned her lips, "Whatever you say, Sister." Marguerite said.  
  
**Slam** The ruler came down one last time in Sister Mary Margaret's chosen career.   
  
This time Marguerite could not prevent a loud, long scream.  
  
A few of her classmates did the same as both Father Genacou and Father O'Carrol came into the classroom at a run.  
  
"If you're going to the infirmary anyway," the nun shouted, a bizarre gleam in her unsound eyes, "you might as well have a **real** injury!"  
  
Sister Mary Margaret had broken two of Marguerite's fingers.  
  
*****  
  
"Rise and shine ..." Veronica woke the woman, kneeling over Marguerite and touching her gently on the shoulder. She was surprised when Marguerite woke with a start, sitting up quickly, clutching one hand in the other, looking crucially at her fingers. She then began to flex as if she wasn't certain the hand was her own. Veronica didn't know what Marguerite had been dreaming but, in a way, it was nice to see something other than lethargy from her dark-haired friend. "Are you hungry?" she asked, smiling and trying to be gentle.  
  
Slightly more focused, Marguerite looked up at Veronica and nodded ever so slightly.  
  
"*Good*." Veronica smiled again, genuinely happy to see Marguerite better able to communicate. She passed her a leaf-plate with a bit of meat and egg then watched as Marguerite nibbled what was given to her. "Roxton's gone off to fill our canteens. He should be back any minute then we'll be on our way."  
  
Again Marguerite nodded, concentrating on her lunch and occasionally glancing at her own fingers.  
  
'She's coming back slowly.' Veronica thought but sighed internally. Such a difference. Where was the fire and steel Roxton had once spoke of? Despite what she had told the hunter, Veronica began to wonder if they'd ever get Marguerite back completely whole again. Memories, some of which must have torn at her heart and soul, were still flooding back into Marguerite's nightmares. 'What type of life did you once lead, Marguerite Krux, that those memories have turned you into a victimized mute?' The jungle girl frowned at the somewhat unkind thought. Any one of them could have been a victim of the Zuserius. An escape from the plateau was seductive no matter in what form it came to the adventurers. She suddenly wondered if Malone would have faired much better than Marguerite under the same circumstances.   
  
Still, looking at Marguerite closely, Veronica decided she did seem a more coherent than early this morning. "Marguerite, can you speak to me?" Veronica asked, encouraging.  
  
Uncomfortable, Marguerite laid her oversized leaf on the ground and nervously tried to do as requested. She opened her mouth to utter a word or even a single syllable. Nothing came out in her first attempt so, gently licking her lips Marguerite, in complete earnestness, tried once more. But again nothing came from between her lips. Frustrated, Marguerite struck both her fists on the grass and closed her eyes, bitter with disappointment.  
  
"It's okay." Veronica soothingly spoke but almost wanted to laugh. The anger she saw in her friend was a bit more like the Marguerite she had come to know. Sympathetic, the jungle girl touched the underside of Marguerite's chin so she could look into her eyes, "We'll take it a day at a time. Challenger is a smart man. He'll think of something to help you, Marguerite. Your voice will come back and those horrible nightmares will fade."  
  
Marguerite's large eyes, slightly glistening in indignation, looked into Veronica's, pleading.  
  
"I promise." Veronica said because Marguerite looked as if she needed the reassurance.  
  
"Well, you're looking better!" Roxton announced. He returned, lifting two canteens and passing them to Veronica as she stood. He then turned his attention fully to Marguerite, giving her one of his hands, lifting her to a standing position. "Feeling better?" he asked, smiling down at her, pleased to see her expression slightly clearer than this morning.  
  
Marguerite could only stare up at him, awed. Until this moment she had never realized just how closely Roxton mirrored her first childhood love. Father Genacou. His hair, manner and .... smile.  
  
"Marguerite?" Roxton asked, puzzled by her stare but also slightly flattered that he seemed to have caught her attention.  
  
"No voice yet," Veronica called, gearing up. "but she does look better, doesn't she?"  
  
"Hm?" In a comical manner Roxton took the hat from Marguerite's hands and, adjusting it slightly on her head, he murmured: "That's just about right." He then smiled once again, pleased to see the woman, in a shy manner, amused by his regard and teasing.  
  
Slowly, latching onto another memory, much warmer than in her nightmares, Marguerite's arms lifted to tentatively reach for his shirt collar, her eyes exploring his neck, chiseled chin and the handsome and warm familiarity of his face.  
  
Roxton's breath almost caught in his throat. She was remembering, coming back to them and eager to be well on the road to recovery. Thank God. He was so caught up in the moment, feeling the delicate fingers ever so hesitantly touch his cheeks, that he barely noticed the rapidly whizzing arrows as they flew by his head and landed in the grass just behind Marguerite.  
  
"Roxton!" Veronica shouted. "It's the Zuserius! They're coming after us! They're attacking!"  
  
**  
  
They hadn't counted on retaliation. After all, the Zuserius leader was dead, crushed beneath the stone wall which had fallen on him back in the cave. Yet here the natives were, once again attempting to take lives for the counterfeit betterment of their people.   
  
"They just never give up, do they?" Roxton shouted, pulling Marguerite behind him. He lifted his rifle, firing two shots that felled that number of savages. They were running at them with spears, clubs, bows, arrows and a wild resolve that spoke of revenge and terror.   
  
"It's either destroy the infidels or suffer the wrath of Zus!" Veronica called, engaged in hand to hand combat with at least three of the aggressors, kicking out and felling the muscular warriors with her unfathomable adeptness.  
  
The adventurers had wrongly assumed, when the cave collapsed, the natives were all interred underneath rubble, never to set their sights on the outside world again. However, it made sense that some would escape, perhaps finding themselves buried in an air pocket and forced to dig themselves out of their graves. Women and children in their tribe. Their futures depended on the good will of their god and the sacrifices the natives were forced to offer.  
  
"You will not have her!" Roxton shouted, pulling the gun from his waist holster. He shot three times, a bullet catching one native in the shoulder and another in the leg. The last ricocheted off a tree and knocked a heavy spear from a third native's hand.  
  
Now they hesitated, the savages pulling back and examining their situation. One of the braver stepped forward and began to speak to the three adventurers. He lifted his hands, angered but serious. He was trying to make them understand something significant.  
  
"What is he saying?" Roxton asked Veronica as she moved in to stand beside him. He still held his gun upward trained on the larger assembly of men nursing themselves near a large oak.  
  
"I have no idea. I've never heard this dialect before."  
  
Marguerite, who had been dutifully hiding behind Roxton, terrified of a return trip into hell, unexpectedly moved from his shadow and took a few steps forward.  
  
"No." Roxton moved to grasp her arm.  
  
"Wait." Veronica pulled him back, "She understands what he's saying."  
  
With an effort Marguerite tried to speak but could not summon a sound. Instead, she lifted a hand to her throat and tapped, giving the native a questioning look. The representative nodded at her sign language. Marguerite then turn to her friends and made the motions of attaching a necklace to her neck. She lifted her fingers to indicate the size and color of what she spoke of.  
  
"The gold amulet." Veronica suddenly caught on, "Remember, we found it with her clothes. It has some deep, spiritual significance and they want it returned."  
  
"Then give it to them." Roxton urged.  
  
"I don't have it. When I retrieved Marguerite's clothes I left the amulet laying on the altar. I figured it was the last thing she needed to see."  
  
Roxton sighed. "Great. And the bloody thing is probably laying underneath a ton of rock."  
  
Marguerite's disappointed expression turned puzzled when she lifted a hand to feel a slight bulge in Roxton's vest pocket. She reached inside and slowly pulled out her delicate heart pendant, the prized possession Roxton had found laying near the wall where they first saw writing. She dangled it on its chain of silver.  
  
Behind her the natives, having witnessed what they thought was a phenomenon from Zus, their sacred amulet having transformed into this symbol of life, were astounded. Mumbles of awe and even plaudits greeted the adventurers ears.  
  
Pained, closing her eyes briefly and knowing what she must do, Marguerite touched the heart softly to her lips. She then turned slowly and approached the native who was the tribe's representative, dangling the cherished bauble between them then miming him to take it from her hands.  
  
With respect, the native bowed shortly and carefully, taking the necklace. He and his tribe then turned from Roxton, Veronica and Marguerite and walked back to their homes.   
  
"I'll be damned." Roxton murmured in admiration. "That's the second time your heart has saved our lives, Marguerite. First Malone a couple years ago and now us." As she approached and stood near to his right side, Lord Roxton reached around, placing a loving and compassionate arm around her slightly slumped shoulders. He kissed her gently on the cheek, truly impressed. Giving up that piece of jewelry could not have been easy for Marguerite. It was amongst her favorites.  
  
"Yes," Veronica agree gently, watching Marguerite's veiled expression, the sadness that nearly spilled tears but not quite. "Yes, **that** heart ..." she said, "... and **this** heart." she whisper-touched the left side of Marguerite's chest, acknowledging her friend's sacrifice. It was at times like these that that Veronica truly did feel a kinship to Marguerite. She was the sister Veronica never had.  
  
**  
  
The trio camped that night without a fire. They were close to home, heading into an area where dinosaurs were abundant, and Roxton did not want to risk the possibility of a raptor ambush. Instead of cooking an evening meal they settled for fresh fruit, nuts and water.  
  
Marguerite, still healing, was sleepy and barely finished an apple before her eyes drooped. It was evident early on that she was not keeping up with her companions animated conversation regarding Malone and how he would probably write about this event in his journal. She was encouraged by Veronica to lay down and rest but Marguerite remained sitting upward, silent and distracted. She didn't want to sleep. She didn't want to have another nightmare. They weren't as bad as they had been, back with the Zuserius, but the visions were still uncomfortable. The drug that was given to Marguerite to enhance her nightmares, making the images more frightening and real, was wearing off. She could be grateful for that. Yet, she was still afraid and wasn't certain if she'd ever be brave again in her life. So many horrible memories had been unearthed. Half healed wounds were reopened.  
  
A cry of a brontosaurus was heard and although it was a herbivore the explorers were nervous. After all, the sheer weight of the beast was enough to crush a small village. When its mating call drifted away they were slightly more at ease.   
  
"One of us better stay awake." Roxton said, "I'll keep first watch."  
  
Veronica nodded, "Fine. Wake me in a few hours." she replied and settled herself in a grassy area underneath a large oak. The night was warm so they would not freeze. That was one nice thing about living this deeply in the jungle. No snow.  
  
"And you," he said to Marguerite, "sleep."  
  
Sadly, Marguerite shook her head.  
  
It came to Roxton why she was hesitating and his obtuseness almost made him thump himself on the side of his head with his palm. Carefully, he scooted next to Marguerite, both of them leaning against the same oak Veronica was slumbering underneath, and pulled her gently against him. He removed her hat and laid it beside them. "I'm going to be right here next to you all night." he murmured in her ear. Roxton drew Marguerite gently into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. "I'll hold you and keep you safe. Nothing is going to hurt you." **Not ever again.** he thought but only stroked her tempting hair with his free hand. "You can stay awake if you like."   
  
Marguerite did feel better, secure in his embrace. She would have told him if she could speak. Then slowly, almost without will, her own eyes began to close.  
  
Roxton listened to the sounds of night as his companions snoozed around him. He was tired too but didn't think he could sleep even if they were enjoying the protection of the treehouse. Marguerite was coming back to them. He was pleased, of course, but also disquieted. He knew Veronica had caught onto something early on, the way she looked at him as they traveled to and from the cave, knowing there was something amiss.   
  
The evening before she and Malone had left for their supply gathering journey to the Biendi village, Marguerite and Roxton had one of the worst arguments the couple ever experienced during the entire time they'd lived on the plateau together. And it was all because he had told her the truth. Roxton had finally admitted to the woman he consider his soulmate that he was in love with her and it was his intent to wed her once they returned to England.   
  
They were getting air on the balcony and Roxton didn't know why he suddenly blurted it out. He knew Marguerite better than that. The game they played was important. Until she was ready to reveal all of her secrets their relationship would consist of flirting and the occasional endearment. Eventually something more intimate might happen but no talk of the hereafter until ... until ...   
  
Perhaps he had been drinking too much of Challenger's fine brandy or maybe he was just tired of holding his emotions inside. If she loved him as much as he loved her why not just say it out loud and admit they did have a future together? Whatever problems that might come about because of Marguerite's past was something they would work out together, when the time came.  
  
Marguerite's reaction was of paralyzed silence at first. She then cleared her throat and said what he had been dreading most when he knew this moment would eventually come. "John, you know I care about you but I just don't know if you fit into my plans ..."  
  
From there is spiraled downward. He had miscalculated. Roxton had visions of he and Marguerite finally taking the next logical step. He had pictured her waking in his bed the following morning, her beautiful, naked body wrapped in his loving embrace. Instead he started to shout and ask her if there was **ever** a time in her life when she wasn't so cold and self serving. Did the precious jewels she found so much delight in keep her warm at night? Did she plan to have children with them?  
  
That's when Marguerite's hand swung out and slapped him hard across the cheek. Stunned by what she'd done Marguerite sputtered: "John ... John I ..." but then looked away from him, shielding her eyes from his intense stare.   
  
Why was he wasting his time with her? She would never change. There were just too many layers of self preservation to strip away. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life trying to press for a kind word or even the smallest demonstration of affection. He was tired of the pretense and he was more than weary of Marguerite Krux!  
  
But then, when he woke the following morning, Roxton saw things much differently. He loved Marguerite and she was worth any effort it took to make her his spouse. She had hurt him but he wasn't exactly pure and innocent himself. Some of the things he had said to her over the last few months were down right cruel. Yet, she never complained ... well, not much. She had issues and in time they'd get through them. He could be a patient man. He loved her spirit. That's was apart of their attraction. She wasn't like those simpering society ladies he knew so well, willing to bow to him because of his title and great wealth. They were beautiful women but oh so predictable. Marguerite was definitely not like a woman a man with the title of Lord was supposed to wed. Although, Roxton reconsidered, she did carry herself like an aristocrat, having had wealth at one time herself. And that was another thing he loved about Marguerite. Contradiction. He could not pin her down and that was a challenge. All things said and done, Marguerite was his greatest adventure.   
  
Unfortunately, she and Malone had left that morning before he awoke and could apologize.  
  
Roxton looked down when she moved, her hand reaching up to his collar, snuggling closer against his warmth. Could she forgive him? Could he make Marguerite change her mind? If he was repentant might she consider fitting him into her plans at some later date?   
  
Was there anything more nauseating, Roxton thought with a sudden roll of his eyes, than a man deeply in love and fighting an uphill battle?  
  
***  
  
**This was the one she hated most. The worst of her nightmares.  
  
"John?"  
  
"Go away, Marguerite!"  
  
"I'm sorry! I'm really so sorry!'  
  
They were outside, walking through the jungle. Roxton had his rifle and he was hunting. She was running behind him, trying to make him understand.  
  
"I'm done with you, Marguerite. It's time to find me a woman who gives a damn."  
  
"I do, Roxton. I do. Please, if you could just wait a little longer ..."  
  
"No. No more." He suddenly crouched down, anticipating. "Do you hear that?"  
  
Marguerite heard nothing.  
  
"She's coming for me."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The woman of my dreams." His expression was intense and he smiled like a mischievous school boy.  
  
"I don't understand, John."  
  
"You never did." He stood again.  
  
A sudden crunching noise was heard, as if the earth had been impacted by a great weight. Marguerite thought she heard the cry of a baby somewhere but that made no sense ...  
  
"Here she comes!" he giggled, suddenly standing and sweeping his arms. "I'm here! Come for me, my beauty!"  
  
He laid his rifle down and pushed it aside.  
  
"Roxton! What are you doing?"  
  
He wasn't listening. He watched with a mad gleam in his eyes at the Tyrannosaurus broke through the thick jungle vegetation about them. It sniffed the air for a moment then focused on the foolish human being in its path, waving his arms like a maniac.  
  
"Roxton, stop!" Marguerite hid behind a thick tree, peaking out and feeling the tears sting her eyes. She knew what was going to happen next. It had happened so many times in her nightmares ...  
  
The great head of the beast came down and its mouth snatched Lord John Roxton up, crushing him between teeth made of steel.  
  
"Marguerite!' Roxton cried before he was swallowed, a sudden rush of terror flooding his blood splattered face, "I love you!"  
  
And then he was gone and she was alone ... again.**  
  
***  
  
Roxton nodded off but woke when he felt Marguerite twitch in his arms.  
  
Morning light was filtering through the trees.  
  
Veronica, having awakened on her own, was standing slightly away from her friends, stretching her well toned body. She looked down at Roxton, noticing he had stirred, and beamed gently. He had fallen asleep last night and didn't wake Veronica for her turn as watchman. No harm done. They all needed a good night of rest after all they'd been through yesterday. "If we start now we should make it to the treehouse by noon." Veronica was anxious to get home and see Malone. Surely he and Challenger had returned by now and she was desperate to see him well. Every time Veronica thought of Malone going over that waterfall she felt a deep pang of trepidation. What if next time he wasn't so lucky?  
  
Roxton nodded and gently shook Marguerite beside him, "Up, Sleeping Beauty."  
  
She was groggy at first, only half roused and looking up into his visage with a dreamy quality that spoke of how lovely it was to awaken in the arms of such a desirable man. But soon, recalling the horrors of her last dream, mental images of Roxton being devoured by that horrific T-Rex, Marguerite unexpectedly sat stiffly upward, her large eyes wide with fright. She then looked at Roxton again with a flood of relief. Her arms flung themselves around his neck and she hug him emotionally - "Rox ..." Marguerite managed to croak before the voice caught in her throat.  
  
"Hey." he whispered, gently rubbing her back, both touched by her regard and pleased by the attempt that met his ears. "That's progress." he smiled, "At least you're making sounds." Roxton was loving the moment but also wondered how long the joy would last once she remembered their argument a few nights ago. 'Don't think about that.' his mind rebelled, 'You'll face that demon in due time.'   
  
Marguerite pulled back and nodded with clouded acquiescence.   
  
"Let's go you two!" Veronica called anxiously from the path, already beginning the walk home.  
  
"When we get to the treehouse we'll have brunch." Roxton stood and held his hand out for Marguerite, "Maybe a little raptor stew will get you vocal chords on the mend again."  
  
Rolling her eyes, Marguerite shook her head and grimaced.  
  
Roxton chuckled. Who needed words?  
  
***  
  
"I see them!" Malone called from the balcony, already moving to the elevator. "They've got Marguerite. She looks fine!"  
  
Advancing to the spot Malone had vacated, Challenger nodded his relief at the younger man and noted, for the first time since they'd returned from the Biendi village, that Ned was at ease. Challenger began to worry about him when the reporter discovered Hesse's master was none other than the historian he and Marguerite had talked with about the map. It had been a horrible conspiracy that was now at an end. The village authorities were informed and both men had been arrested.   
  
Yet, Malone still blamed himself for the perils he and Marguerite faced. Returning to the treehouse Malone had wondered, out loud, if he should take another trip away from his friends, to reevaluate everything he had learned from his journey only a few months earlier.  
  
"Do you really want to be away from Veronica again?" Challenger comment but could not quite get the humor in his tone to make his question a quip.  
  
"No." Malone had said. A look of pain that was not at all physical overcame him. He had thought so much about her during his journey. Her blond hair and beautiful smile kept him warm during the weeks up in the mountains and the memory of her bronzed skin and sparkling personality kept him from taking foolish chances he might have been tempted to dive into if Malone thought he'd never see her again.  
  
Challenger lifted a hand to wave at his companions. They were still a distance away but Malone was right. They all look well from this vantage point. "Welcome back, my friends." he murmured.  
It was so good to have everyone home.  
  
***  
  
There was nothing more beautiful in all the world than a full, genuine smile radiating from Marguerite Krux beautiful face and Roxton reveled in her pleasure as they saw the treehouse in the distance before them. She grasped his hand and tugged, impatient at he and Veronica's lack of progress. 'You're going to get better." he thought, her impatience one of the best indications Marguerite was on the mend.  
  
"Even without her voice she's still pushy." Veronica observed but it was with a happy grin. She and the dark haired woman began a playful race down the path and Roxton followed.  
  
Then they heard it. A loud, bone shaking squawk that could mean only one thing.  
  
Attack.  
  
The pterodactyl swooped down on the returning explorers, its claws bared to either destroy or pick up a tasty morsel for whatever young she had back in her nest.  
  
"Look out!" Challenger called racing from the balcony to the treehouse elevator.  
  
Veronica, the first to make it within ten meters of the electric fence was caught unaware until she heard Challenger's shout and felt the wind of the beast's gigantic wings brush her tumbled hair. But it was too quick for her to react. A claw caught Veronica across the back and she fell, screaming her shock and pain.  
  
"No!" Ned cried, running from the enormous roots of the tree which housed their home, where he had been waiting for his friends. He raced to the jungle girl, kneeling and scooping her into his arms, protecting her from the monster, unheeding of the giant bird who was now flying above and turning inward for another decent.  
  
Roxton pushed Marguerite to the ground and pulled his rifle. As the pterodactyl made another swooping motion, crying its intent to gather up she who was wounded, he fired two shots that felled the creature. She landed with a heavy thump in the clearing right in front of their home. Roxton then ran to where Challenger and Malone were examining Veronica.   
  
She was wounded but it was not fatal. Veronica, in a fog, seeing all of the concerned faces above her, smiled to reassure the men of her well being.  
  
"Thank the maker for all small favors." Challenger whispered, visibly alleviated.  
  
"You son of a bitch! I hate you!"  
  
All turned suddenly to gaze upon a most bizarre sight.  
  
Marguerite, having gotten to her feet, found a long sturdy tree brach and was beating the already dead pterodactyl with wild abandonment. "Was it my fault?" she cried, "I was only a little girl when you left me! You deserted me, left me with those evil people who didn't care. Is it any wonder I turned out the way I did?" Marguerite threw blow after stunning blow, not hearing bones crack, not caring that what seemed to be the object of her hatred no longer cared about the wild ravings of a troubled mortal being. "Adrienne, you were such a fool. Why did you have to get yourself killed? Why did you take such a stupid chance? You were my best friend. Was I so horrible? Did you do it on purpose to get away from me? Was that it?" Tears rolled down her red, wind swept cheeks. With venom, Marguerite took the hat from her head and hurtled it hard to the ground beside her. "And *you*, you bastard!" She beat the beast again from another angel with a series of frantic blows, "You promised to take care of me! You said you loved me and I married you but you lied about **everything**! Damn you! Girlfriends, liquor and spending money you ... *we* didn't have! I had to sell everything! Then you died, leaving me penniless!" Now her sobs were loud and long as she moved to the pterodactyl's head, "And you ... I loved you! I followed you all the way to Shanghai ..." Marguerite's tone began to lose momentum, her blows landing less frequently on target, and her rage was replaced with a deep, personal pain and sobs, "... because I had to tell you about the ... but you got yourself shot. You left me like all the rest ... and I lost the baby ... It couldn't stand being inside of me. It hated me like all of you! And I was alone ... and no one cares ... and no one ..."  
  
And then Roxton was there, taking the wooden club from her hand, tossing it aside, enfolding her in his warm arms, collapsing with Marguerite onto the grass beside the now horribly crushed monstrosity as Marguerite cried and cried into his chest. He whispering gentle endearments, kissing her forehead, petting her hair and feeling the tears sting his own eyes as her arms circled him, holding on frantically, not wanting to let go.  
  
"Please," she whispered, "don't go away."  
  
His lips were close to her ear, "I never will."  
  
Challenger, Malone and Veronica could only stare in overwhelming shock and deep pity.  
  
***  
  
EPILOGUE:  
  
Veronica, her own back loosely bandaged, came from her patients bedroom and met the eyes of the men, sitting grimly around their dinner table.  
  
"How is she?" Roxton asked, his usually firm voice ever so slightly shaking.  
  
With a gentle smile, she approached and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "To quote Marguerite not five minutes ago: 'Foolish and humiliated.'."  
  
"She has no reason ..." Malone began.  
  
Challenger said, "Marguerite allowed a vulnerable part of herself to show. None of us were supposed to see that. She didn't *want* us to see it. Now, it's going to be up to us to show her that whatever breakdown she had doesn't matter. We're her family and she can trust us." Then he allowed, "But I wouldn't push it. Marguerite has her pride and it wouldn't surprise me if she bit back hard, knowing that we now know a few more of what she considers deeply personal secrets."  
  
Veronica bent slightly at the waist and whispered into Roxton's ear, "She wants to see you."  
  
He nodded and pushed back his chair, offering it to Veronica.  
  
She took it gratefully, still feeling slightly sore from the pterodactyl attack, and watched Lord Roxton move to Marguerite's bedroom. If anyone could get Marguerite to soften and understand what she had done wasn't a bad thing, it was him.  
  
"How are *you*?" Malone asked, smiling across the table at Veronica.  
  
"Okay." she acknowledged, pleased by his concern, "I'll be sore for a few days but considering what could have happened I'm just grateful to be up and walking around.  
  
Challenger noted that Malone and Veronica were staring rather deeply into each other's eyes and took it as his cue to go elsewhere. "Well, I have work to do. I really must take inventory on the nearly extinct leaf samples Veronica brought with her from the Zanga village ..." he muttered as he exited to his laboratory.  
  
Gently, Malone reached forward and took one of Veronica's hands in his own. He squeezed softly but did no more. It was enough.  
  
**  
  
She was looking out of the window, at the blue sky above, and there was a nearly winsome little expression on her thoughtful face. She was propped up in bed with plump pillows, wearing the silky-white night dress he liked so much, her hair loose about her shoulders. She was lovely. Her eyes, he noted, were deeply gray in contrast to her pale complexion.  
  
"Marguerite?" he called gently, pulling a stool up to sit by her bedside.  
  
She lifted a hand and he took it, kissing her knuckles very gently. "There's so much I'm beginning to remember." she whispered, "And so much I want to forget."  
  
"Forget the bad things. Keep the good." he advised with a grin.  
  
"If only it were that easy." Marguerite chuckled ever so gently. She looked carefully at Roxton, sensing a hidden alarm, "I can remember today and yesterday. I can see clearly Malone and I entering into that cave ... I remember when we first came to the plateau ... and my life before we came to The Lost World. But I couldn't begin to tell you what I did last week. Maybe," she hesitated, "I don't want to know."  
  
Roxton gazed at Marguerite for awhile. He wasn't entirely certain she was speaking honestly or figuratively. He caressed the hand in his. He hazard, "There are lot of things I've said and done in my life that I wish I could take back."  
  
"William." she whispered.  
  
"Yes," he nodded, "and other things, recent things, that I can only apologize for over and over again to make it right."  
  
She gazed at him, sensing he was making a request. "You've lost me, John." she said, appearing puzzled by his comment, "You've never done anything or said anything I've ever seen or heard that should be held as guilt and suffered for in a lifetime." Marguerite lifted the hand he held and touched his chin with her fingers, "Whatever it is you might have said was probably said in a moment of unthinking passion. And I'm sure, one day, when you least expect it, whatever that revelation was will bear blissfully delicious fruit. You will have everything you ever dreamed of."  
  
Her smile was gentle and enigmatic.  
  
Roxton gazed into her fatigue laced face and nodded, "Thank you." he said and closed his eyes, bowing his head, to ineffectively hide the emotions he was feeling inside. He then raised his head once again, took a breath, and stood, "You need rest." Roxton announced and pulled a few pillows from behind her head so Marguerite could recline.  
  
There were things they needed to discuss further, personal issues that would take more time and effort than either could risk in the here and now, but they were on the right track.   
  
Roxton leaned over to tenderly kiss Marguerite on the forehead but was a little surprised when she pushed up on the mattress. Instead, he connected with her lips and felt her mouth smile beneath his. "Tricky." he whispered when they parted, delighting in her soft giggle. He then watched as Marguerite snuggled into the blanket covering her and closed her eyes.  
  
Marguerite's eyes reopened when she sensed Roxton had gone. "One day, my love. One fine day." she whispered. She then closed her eyes and fell off into dreams.  
  
  
THE END   
March 2002 


End file.
